Deja Vu
by Sivan IXXX
Summary: Wesker ignored Sheva his entire time in Kijuju. Now that he's been detained, 'rehabilitated', and is now a normal man, he rethinks his outlook in life, and decides he needs a queen to rule alongside him. Who does he choose? Your one and only, but she sees this as a different opportunity. For what? Revenge. Genre is also romance. Complete.
1. Part I

A:N: Okay, this is for all those Shesker fans out there. I know it's an unlikely pairing, but a lot of people were saying Wesker ignored Sheva's existence throughout his conversations with Chris except when he grabs her and starts ranting about humans and blah blah blah. But anyway, this is a role reversal, definitely for laughs, definitely non-canon, so please, no one be offended if they take Resident Evil seriously. Just don't read it.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Resident Evil that appear in this story or any part of Capcom for that matter, so please do not sue.

Part One: I Am A God!

"Uroboros...will elevate all humans worthy of its power!" he growled menacingly.

"This guy's lost it!" Sheva remarked, her pistol still aimed at the crazed scientist.

"I don't think he ever had it," Chris retorted, his eyes dead-set on that exposed part of his neck. If he could just get near the madman, they could pull this off, save the world from Albert Wesker again, and go home.

"Sheva, you remember the plan, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I've got it ready. Just say the word." Chris fired a few rounds at him, and Wekser dodged them effortlessly, laughing at their attempts to hurt him.

"Don't you understand? You'll _never _be able to hit me with that pesky gun of yours..._Chris_," he hissed. Suddenly, he was a black streak barreling right at the B.S.A.A operative, and in the next moment, Chris found himself pummeling through the air and into a metal beam, falling to the floor.

"Agh!" he groaned, opening his eyes painfully, helplessly looking on as his once ally and now hated enemy marched towards him. Sheva was nowhere in sight.

"You...are weak," Wesker spat, snatching him up by the neck. "And unworthy to live in my new world. So I'll make your death quick and painless..._Chris_." He was really starting to hate the way he dragged out his name every time he said it. Chris looked around for his partner and found her crouched low to the ground, tip-toeing towards the tall man in black.

"Y'know, you may want to think of some new insults, Wesker. They're really starting to get stale, like your stupid black outfits," he managed to get out through a clenched throat.

Wesker's smile faded, and his pointed teeth gnashed together as his grip tightened around his neck. It was really starting to hurt, and he was beginning to see red and purple spots.

"You little cockroach. Since you insist on prolonging your death, I promise I will make it very painful as I tear each limb from your body...like twigs from a tree." Sheva was right behind him, needle in hand, her presence unknown and Chris laughed.

"You won't be able to keep that promise today, Wesker. Or any other day. Now, Sheva!" The operative felt his grip loosen as he turned, but it was too late. The needle was in his neck, and he dropped Chris to the floor to rip out the syringe.

"Aah!" he growled before turning his sights on the female who dared to sneak up on him. His glasses having fallen off after she attacked him, Sheva could see his bright red eyes focused solely on her, and she felt her heart drop. Before she could raise her hands to defend herself, he grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall. His other hand was at her waist, and she was certain his griping fingers were drawing blood as she let out a groan of pain. "You dare have the gall to prick me with a _stupid_ needle?" His eyes roamed over her form in an almost human-like way and he smirked. "Are you even a real soldier, girl?"

Gritting her teeth together, she shot back, "Soldier enough to do this!" He saw her knee jerk up in slow motion, but it was too late. The bone connecting her thigh to her shin made agonizing contact with his center, and he saw stars. The universe could have imploded, but he wouldn't feel as much pain as he did than at that moment.

Silently, he fell to the floor, unfamiliar to this...this, oh what was the word? _Pain_. He hadn't felt it after all these years of being above human expectations, so he cast it aside, but it had come back to him in a regretful way, like an ignored boomerang. He felt something burning in his eyes. They couldn't be. They couldn't be..._tears_ could they? Tear ducts belonged to humans; he was not human. He was a god. A _god_!

"Argh, you stupid woman! What did you to me?" he demanded, trying to uncoil the muscles in his legs so that he could get to his feet. He felt like a crushed spider, drawing up and into his body until he couldn't any longer.

"Show you that even gods can fall. Literally," she smirked. "It appears you are one of us again." _What?_ How could this be?

"What was in that needle?" he asked. A headache was forming in the back of his skull and ripping through to the front like streaks of lightning. The lamps above proved to be too bright for his sight, and he squinted, only increasing his pain. He felt...smaller...weaker. Less than a god.

"The God Slayer. But that title doesn't belong to you anymore..._Albert_," Chris teased him, picking him up by the collar. He resisted, but it was to no avail. This puny human was actually _stronger_ than him! The roles were reversed, and his plan dashed to pieces by the same man who he called his best.

"You lie. Nothing can stop Uroboros from—"

A fist connected with his jaw, and all colors quickly turned to black.

* * *

He remembered loading the plane with the missiles, injecting Excella with the Uroboros, choking Chris, choking Sheva, and then everything fading to black. What had happened?

That's right. Chris Redfield had punched him in the face, and that little...actually, she may have been one of the few chosen to live in his new world. Quite a lovely specimen...

"Lucky for you, we didn't kill you. But unfortunately, you get a chance to redeem yourself," Chris' voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. Before he knew it, he was being hoisted up from the cold metal floor by the hook of his elbow and down the ramp of his plane. There were police everywhere, medical personnel, and an ambulance—who needed an ambulance?

"Bring him here," one of the paramedics said, and Wesker felt his body being dragged to the stretcher. Chris was careful not to injure him even more, but was still smirking at his pitiful state. Sheva was close behind, her hazel eyes observant, but lacked emotion. "He's got a cut under his eye." Immediately, the medic sprayed some antiseptic on his cheek, and it stung, but he growled as if punched in the gut.

"This body is weak," he grumbled.

"Then maybe you should work out. You've got plenty of time to do that where you're going," Sheva suggested, her arms folded.

"And exactly _where_ would that be?" The paramedic taped a gauze to his cheek, and they both smiled.

* * *

"I am _not_ insane," he stated flatly for the seventh time that morning. He folded his arms across his chest as he tapped his foot impatiently. The thick mustache hid his psychiatrist's lips from view, but an audible 'humph' left his throat.

This man was older than dust, and he had the nerve to tell Albert Wesker, the ideal image of perfection, a being of superior intellect, class and right, that he was _crazy_? Apparently, the world was madder than he had previously assumed.

"Sociopaths never think they're mentally unstable. But there are many things wrong with your line of thinking. You have the classic symptoms of being an alpha male."

"Sociopath?" the arrogant blonde scoffed. "Dr. Keeling, I was trying to _save_ mankind from themselves, you hairy-faced fool! Uroboros were the next link in the chain of human evolution! I was a god! I had created a new race!" he yelled, trying to break free from the restraints. If he were still a god, he could breathe on the leather cuffs and they would fall off from the sheer grace of his will.

His doctor nodded towards someone, and he knew they were coming.

"Life has taught us that only the strongest survive and I was merely ensuring that that rule stay enforced! I deserve to be a god! I, Albert Wesker, will never be silenced!" he shouted as one of the guards held him in place. "Only I have the rights to be—" A needle sunk into his neck, and he fell silent.

"A god. We know," Dr. Keeling said, clicking his pen. "Take him back to his room."

* * *

Once fully conscious, the blonde man sat up and scooted to the edge of his bed, rubbing his neck where they had injected him. If he still had the Uroboros, if he were still superhuman, if he were still a god, the sedative wouldn't have hit him like a ton of bricks. He'd be on his throne, his rightful place, watching his new subjects ravage the world, let it burn, and grow into the grand utopia he had always imagined.

But with every last strain of the virus gone, and his capabilities severely stunted, that utopia was, and always would be from that point on, nonexistent.

He got to his feet and looked into the mirror. The black slits surrounded by blood red were now replaced with a mellow gray blue color, and he turned away from the reflection in disgust.

What was he to do, now that he was normal?

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

"Huh?"

"I said," Chris chuckled, putting a hand on her shoulder. "How are you feeling? You look sick, partner."

"I'm fine," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. The warm spring breeze blew her shoulder-length hair behind her. The sunset was beautiful, a burning fiery red hue, but it also reminded her of the eyes of the madman that they had apprehended almost a year ago to the day. "But knowing he'll be released today makes me wonder: will he try again?"

"I ask myself that every day. But even if he does, we'll be here to stop him. And I'll make sure we kill him this time," he winked with a smile. He seemed pretty confident in their abilities as a team, but she couldn't help but feel the gnawing uncertainty forming in her stomach.

"Even that may not be enough."

* * *

The gates were open, the guards were totally absent, and he was no longer bound. No more syringes, no ropes, no ancient relics trying to rehabilitate him, no Chris Redfield to throw his weight around and give him another black eye.

He was free.

Albert Wesker was finally free, and deemed 'cured'. All it took was a few crocodile tears, some faux tale of how being tank-bred really messed him up and that his insurmountable arrogance made up for his emotional void, and fabricated ideal plans to start a 'normal' life. The old geezer seemed to buy it, and he was due for release May 17th, 2010, almost an exact year since he fell from his glorious throne. Although his strength had been mostly depleted, his knowledge was still nearly bottomless in depth, so he would start again.

His game plan had been altered—but only slightly.

He would rule the world.

But not without a queen.

And he had one in mind.

* * *

Freshly showered and ready for bed, the newly arrived 'American' opened the door of her bathroom wrapped in a lilac-colored towel to let the steam out and began brushing her wavy brown tresses with a smile on her face.

Her new apartment was lovely; Claire had been so kind as to become her first official friend when she stepped foot in Los Angeles, and showed her around a little before they went apartment hunting.

The rent was reasonable, all utilities were paid for, and she could keep Abdin, her orange tabby. Could it get any better?

_This sure beats the crap out of that hovel I was living in in Kijuju. No offense to my country. _After the devastation of all those villages, their lives had fallen apart, and no one had volunteered to pick up the pieces. So along with the broken families, she and Chris and Jill—who felt partly responsible—helped rebuild one day at a time, and after eight months of sweat, tears and lots of splinters, the villages were looking quite normal—better even, with running hot and cold water and plumbing. With the basics out of the way, the people knew how to survive, and Sheva was content with leaving, knowing they would be alright after all that they had been through.

_That Wesker...he should have been the one to do all we did for Kijuju. Watching him shovel animal crap would make my day, wipe that smug grin off of his_ face.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and she jumped, dropping her brush in the sink. It was 11 PM according to her clock. Chris the straight-lace boy scout was at home sleeping, Jill had been called out for a mission in South America, and Claire said she'd let her settle in and call tomorrow.

Who could it be?

Slowly, she padded her way to the door in her fuzzy slippers and peered through the peephole. The body was nonexistent since the person was so close, and all she could see was a pale forehead.

She opened the door, and wished she hadn't been thinking so loud.

Albert Wesker was at her front door—_with flowers_. Purple irises, to be exact. She was certain that her jaw hit the floor as she gaped at him. He held that same statuesque, authoritative air, but something was different about his smirk. His thin salmon-colored lips actually looked sincere, and his cool blue eyes were intensely interested, but with this whack job, he could have a syringe full of the T-virus behind those flowers or some kind of hybrid spider waiting to bite her face off in there somewhere.

"Good evening." He looked over her towel-clad form and she suddenly felt exposed. "I guess I came at the right time. Do I smell chrysanthemum?" he asked, taking a step into her apartment. Sheva snapped back into reality and pushed him into the hall, slamming the door. Bewildered, he stared at the apartment number for a moment before coming back to the moment. "That was very rude, woman!"

"You're not supposed to be here!" she shouted back. "How do you even know where I live?"

"The city updates public records all the time," he rolled his eyes. "It's not like you're in Siberia or something. And I've been there; you'd hate the cold."

"Why'd you bring me flowers?"

"I know your favorite color is purple, and you're growing irises on your balcony."

"How do you know?"

"I have a spider camera. I can see everything."

"Ah! So you've seen me naked!" she accused.

He leaned against the door. "Of course not. I respect your privacy. Although your singing could use some work..."

"Go away, Wesker!" she shouted. _My__ singing is fine._

He put his large palm on his face and sighed. "I'm not here to hurt you! I just want to talk!"

"Sure, and then I'll wake up with itchy skin and a huge appetite! No way!"

"Sheva, I'm growing impatient with you. Just open the door."

"No. It's not like you can break it down anyway. You're just a 48 year old loser now."

He felt a blood vessel in his forehead swell, and he took a deep breath. "I'll have you know I still have the body of a 30 year old. I can break this door down if I wanted to; I've lifted weights every day since I was arrested."

"All you have are noodles for arms! Go away!"

He growled, running a hand through his thick blonde hair and felt a presence behind him. It was an elderly couple eyeing him suspiciously; had they been standing there the whole time?

"There's nothing to see here. My girlfriend locked me out of the apartment." With a hunch of their shoulders, they walked towards the elevators and disappeared around the corner. "Sheva!" he hissed. "You have people thinking I'm crazy! Open the door!"

"Good! They should know you're insane! Unless you're dying or being chased by a killer, I'm _not_ letting you in."

"I've changed, Sheva! For good! I'm normal now!" _But now my plans involve you._ "At least let me prove it to you!" _You writhing, annoying sack of flesh..._Dr. Keeling had done intense shock therapy to control his anger, but all that training was going out the window as he stood there, his face slowly turning red. "I'll leave the flowers at the door and walk away." She remained silent, listening carefully as he placed the flowers against the door and retreated slowly.

_I'll just have to find another way in..._

* * *

True to his word—and an utter shock to her—Wesker had left the irises leaning against her doorpost and he was gone. She picked them up, and looked up at the ceiling. He wasn't there. Good. He really was normal.

_To think the man that was trying to make himself a god would come to my door with flowers at 11 o clock at night...what kind of sick joke is this? _she thought, sticking her nose into the bouquet; they smelled lovely. There was a little note inside, a folded red piece of paper.

_Beauty is the only thing I recall. _

_-A._

The petite African scrunched her nose at the thought. _Wesker, Mr. Too Sexy for Anyone, thinks I'm attractive? _she questioned as she found a pot for the plants.

As she filled it with water, she recalled that his eyes were no longer nightmarishly colored; they were cobalt blue, much less unsettling, yet still intense and pensive, like he could see the millions of blood cells rushing through her veins and the heart pumping it, fresh and red.

_Why couldn't he bother Jill or Claire? I just got here... _Sighing, she turned the water off, and took a step back, bumping into something hard. A pair of hands gripped her waist and she felt hot and cold at the same time.

Immediately, her survival instincts went into play, and she rammed her elbow into her assailant's face, and with a sickening crunch, he fell to the floor.

"For all that is good and holy!" Wesker shouted, trying to stop the fountain of blood leaking onto his black shirt. "I was trying to keep you from falling!"

"You're not supposed to be here, so don't blame me!" He continued groaning and complaining, and she hurried off to get cotton balls and a wet towel. "Shut up you big baby!" she demanded as she opened the pantry doors, grabbing the plastic bag full of round gauze and returned to him, helping him to her new gray leather couch.

_Why am I helping him?_ she asked as she went to the sink to drench and wring out the towel.

"Is your arm made of glass? That really hurt," he mumbled as she sat next to him.

"What happened to the indestructible god I fought almost a year ago? Stop moving," she snapped, grabbing his chiseled jaw. Sheva went to work on the blood quickly drying on his cheeks with a damp towel, careful not to touch his nose, which was quickly growing red.

He glowered at her. "The man you see today is a product of your own efforts, so I guess I owe you."

"Oh, looks like someone's a comedian. I didn't know that could co-exist with your massive ego." She stuffed his nostrils with the cotton balls, making him wince. "Done. Now shoo."

"I'm not a dog," he protested, his long finger wagging in her face. "Now I owe you," he added with a smirk.

She swatted his hand away,"You don't owe me anything but more cotton balls." He chuckled as he got to his feet, and a shiver went down her spine as she followed him.

"I'll see to it that I do replace them—with interest, of course. I'll be back, woman." Wesker took his time to the door, his wide frame moving out into the hallway. Sheva rolled her eyes and he smiled.

_What's wrong with this guy?_

"I'll make sure to have Chris over, and we can have a party." At that, Wesker's face dropped, and she slammed the door shut.

_That's what he gets for ignoring me in Kijuju._

* * *

Okay, go ahead and flame me. Attack me. Say whatever you want about Wesker/Sheva and how unlikely it is. I said it before, and I'll say it again, it's for Shesker fans and I KNOW it's ridiculously off. Wesker is dead and Sheva will not be in any more RE games, so there's no chance of them meeting ever again. But this is for fun, and I played on a common concern fans noticed: he ignored her, so now it's time for her to get even.

I don't know if anyone would consider this first chapter funny, but it will get better with each chapter; I promise. I'm not usually a humor writer, so bear with me please. It's ironic because I'll laugh at anything.

Thanks for reading.

-JuneSnow


	2. Part II

**A:N: Here is Part Two of Deja Vu. Thanks you guys so much for reviewing this story! I didn't expect to get so many hits! I'm not a review ogre, but it's great to know people appreciate the work I put into my writing. Now we shall delve more into this alternate universe and unravel the nuttiness of my mind...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Resident Evil that appear in this story or any part of Capcom for that matter, so please do not sue. And I don't own the brand names that appear within either.**

**Note: I'll try not to force the laughs out of people, so hopefully, I can convey my sense of humor well through writing. *cracks knuckles* Here we go!**

**Another Note: Did anyone notice that Chris sort of looks like Matthew Bomer from White Collar? I just had this revelation a few minutes ago.**

**Part Two: Yield to Me**

* * *

The next morning, Sheva's body automatically responded to the chimes of her cell phone alarm.

_Why don't you take me to...funky town?_

_Why don't you take me to...fuuuuuunky town!_ Annoyed by the shrill voice, she dismissed the alarm and pulled the blankets over her head, trying to forget the confrontation she had had with Wesker, of all people to come knocking on her door!

Her nightmares consisted of his smirk, and her being dumb enough to accept the flowers, only to have—_yes_—a freakish-looking spider with a skull for a head jump out of the bouquet and onto her face. As she contended with the freak of nature gouging out her eyes, she could hear him cackling like a madman until she jerked awake screaming about bug spray.

Just when she had coaxed her mind back into rest mode, her cell phone went off loud and clear:

_I'm a real American_

_Fight for the rights of every man_

_I'm a real American_

_Fight for your life, fight for what's right! _Groaning, she slid her thumb across the touch screen and answered, "Hello?" She drew back from the phone, wondering where the man who answered for her was hiding.

"Uh...is Sheva there?" she heard Chris ask timidly in a shaky voice. Clearing her throat a few times, she replied, "It's me, Chris. I haven't woken up completely."

"Oh. Maybe we should have you do the prank phone calls from now on, but remind me to make you do it when you're half-awake."

"Chris," she growled much like their mutual-now-human enemy.

"Okay, okay. I'll keep using the voice synthesizer from Wesker's lab," he added quickly. "But anyway, did you forget? We're supposed to meet at Carol's for breakfast at 8." Panicked, she glanced at the clock. It read 7:23, giving her half an hour to get dressed and cleaned up to meet him.

"Right. I was going to sleep in. I'll be there in 15 minutes." She ended the call, sprang to her feet, and hurried into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face in all of 3 minutes before raking through her drawers for clothes.

It was summer, so Los Angeles would no doubt be hot all day. She opted for a mustard yellow tank top and a jean skirt that hugged her hips with gray flats.

Checking herself in the hallway mirror, she grabbed her keys and purse and exited her apartment, locking the door hastily and turning to jog to the elevators. Only there was a solid mass that collided with her face as soon as she did so. When did a wall get there?

She soon realized it was a person and backed up, averting their gaze. "I'm sorry," she said swiftly.

"It's no problem, really." The voice took her back to the night before, and the skull spider, and she threw herself against the door, her eyes wide as she took in all 6 foot something of none other than Albert Wesker. He stood there with a lopsided, cocky grin on his face. He wasn't clad in his black leather catsuit today but rather a solid gray fitted T-shirt and dark denim.

"You!" she sputtered pointing at him with her finger.

"Me," he joked, jerking his thumb in his direction. "I told you I'd be back."

"Yeah, I tried to ignore that," she grumbled, trying to find the nearest projectile in the hallway. "Must you be here so early? What if I was still asleep?"

"I'd knock, but I didn't need to, so why make up scenarios? Now, where are we going?" he inquired with a twinkle in his grey-blue eyes.

"_I_ am going to meet Chris for breakfast," she revealed, walking towards the elevators. He followed, his long legs using half the effort she was to walk.

_Darn tall people and their long legs_ Sheva complained silently, jabbing the down arrow a few times. She could almost hear the button screaming for help each time she jabbed it in frustration.

"Are you dating that muscle headed fool?" he asked with distaste.

She scoffed. "Do I detect jealousy? Or is it because he knocked your pompous butt back to last week?"

"I'm not jealous, and it's impossible to apply that much force to send someone back in time. I would know." The elevator chimed and the doors slid open, allowing Sheva in—and unfortunately Wesker too. The ride down was silent until he cleared his throat. "I wonder what would happen if the elevator broke down."

"Call the fire department," she stated in clipped syllables. "Since you can't do your little Neo thing with the flying and all."

He chuckled at her attempt. "I've never been able to fly, dear."

"Well, I assumed you had the characteristics of a bat since you could hang upside down on ceilings and you had fangs."

"So I'm a vampire now?" he asked, amused.

"If the glove fits," she sighed.

"I believe the phrase is, 'If the boot fits.'"

"Whatever. Bat-freak," she muttered, relieved to see the doors open so that she could sprint to her FJ Cruiser.

"If you think the little quips and smart-aleck insults are going to deter me, you're sorely mistaken."

"Why pursue me?" she sighed. "Aren't there enough clueless bimbos in this city for you to chase down, tag on the ear and hack into little pieces?"

"Are you insinuating that I was some sociopathic murderer bent on torturing people?"

"Yes," she stated immediately after his question ended.

"Has it ever occurred to you that in the early years of my employment at Umbrella that some of the 'zombies' were volunteers, and the others were criminals that have done much worse than I have ever done?"

He maintained his cool as he began to explain, and Sheva wished she could force herself to say something silly, like fish nuggets or grey poupon to throw him off. But her mother had taught her better manners and unfortunately, all those whuppings had hardwired courtesy into her brain.

Feeling her face flush, she stomped her foot. "That doesn't include the fact that you tried to kill your own unit all those years ago! But fine! I won't bring up the past. However, you _won't_ win me over! We're already arguing, so score one for me, zero for you!" She strode over to the driver's side of her truck and unlocked her door with Wesker in tow.

"Keeping score are we? How many points until I win your heart?" he purred. Ignoring him and his slimy tone, she attempted to open the door, only to have his hands on either side of her, keeping the door shut firmly. She spun around to face him, and he was dangerously close. To anyone looking on from a window or on the street, they'd think the two were kissing goodbye. He smelled like cedar wood and spice, and she closed her eyes momentarily.

_Ralph Lauren's new fragrance for men...__Irresistable..._ Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, and he was holding a contented look. "Stop looking at me like that! I'm getting lightheaded from your perfume. Did you bathe in it?"

"It's cologne, not perfume, woman. But you see, I'm having an effect on you already," he purred again. Realization dawned on Sheva's face, and for more than a moment, he felt like he'd won.

"Oh my goodness. Wesker you're right." She placed her hands on his chest, gripping his crimson colored shirt and staring into his eyes. "That cologne has me taken with you. I just can't resist," she whispered, then added quickly, "Doing this!" At once, he remembered when her knee ensured that he knew he was human again and he braced himself for impact.

But instead, he got a healthy dose of skull colliding against skull, and his vision turned to black as a nauseating headache split his brain in two. "Agh! Cheese and crackers!" He dared to open his eyes as she turned over her engine and backed out, rolling down her window.

"If you're still standing here when I get back, I'll turn you into my new life-sized hood ornament. Have a lovely life, Wesker." She pulled away and into the street, and he watched as she turned the next corner.

"You will play hard to get, little lioness, but this is one hunter that doesn't give up," he said to himself. The streets were still relatively empty, and there weren't any pedestrians on either side of the street to see their little scene before Sheva left him there. The blond rubbed his temples, looking around casually. _Where's a Walgreen's when you need one? This headache is excruciating..._

* * *

"Sheva."

"..."

"There's a Manjini behind you!" At once, her hand went for the pistol hiding under her jean skirt and she aimed it at the person sitting behind her. A few women screamed and everyone behind the counter ducked. Someone in the background muttered, "We know the drill. Empty our pockets and still get shot. Are criminals ever satisfied?"

"Jeez, what did I do?" the man complained, his hands high over his head. He was a perfectly normal-looking brunette with glasses, and Sheva came out of her inner-dimension, sighing as she put away her gun.

"Sorry. Zombie outbreak survivor," she clarified loudly. A few in the restaurant looked bewildered, all of the children sitting nearby were in awe, and a couple of the teens sitting in a booth were slapping fives, saying, "Awesome."

Although her skin was cinnamon colored, everyone could see the flush of embarrassment in her face as she turned back around to a Chris that could barely contain his laughter as he watched the entire scene unfold.

"Chris, that's not funny," she growled.

"Yeah, it is. You really think there'd only be _one_ Manjini in here? And why would you even believe me? The Uroboros virus is completely gone." He began to laugh louder and everyone's attention turned back to their table.

They hadn't ordered anything yet, so she didn't feel bad about leaving him there alone. "See you, Chris."

"Wait, where are you goin'?" he asked, trying to catch his breath. "There are some T zombies cooking your breakfast! They have a leech special for you!" He burst into a loud cacophony, banging on the table, ignoring the fact that the manager was about to call the police on him for scaring the customers.

Sheva stormed out of the restaurant, her face hot with anger and annoyance. Her confidant, friend and partner was making fun of her—and _he_ had been fighting zombies longer than she did, so why wasn't he just as paranoid?

The B.S.A.A agent continued walking until she got to a small park with a railing overlooking a large pond and leaned on it, watching the koi swim to the surface and disappear."Stupid big-eared, dog-faced, loud-mouth neanderthal..." she muttered.

"Are you thinking of Chris at the moment?" Yet _another_ unwelcome presence to ruin her morning that was already feeling like soggy, old cheese.

"Are you following me?" she asked in a defeated tone. If he came any closer, it wouldn't take much to snapmare him into the water and make a break for the car.

"I happened to be coming from Walgreen's to get some aspirin for the headache _you_ created and saw you making craters in the sidewalk. It's not good to allow idiots ruin your mood."

"Then I guess I have _two_ idiots to thank for ruining a perfectly good day." She finally turned to survey him, and he gave her an awkward, boyish smirk. _Was he staring at my butt? Perv..._ "Can't you take a hint, Blond Ambition? I-don't-want-to-be-bothered." The smirk didn't fall from his face; instead it grew into a thin-lipped grin, giving him a freaky cartoonish face.

"Okay, I could handle the egotistical, maniacal Wesker that wanted to take over the world, but this quirky human one is freaking me out," she admitted.

"Isn't human a good thing? The other me was awful."

"Really? I didn't know that. When did you come to that conclusion? After that headbutt?" she taunted him in a sarcastic tone. He looked dead in her eyes for a moment, then looked away guiltily.

"I tripped a seven year-old that made faces at me in the store," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Sheva's initial reaction was to shun him and then push him over the balcony, but instead, she burst out laughing, and Wesker turned to her, shock on his usually calm, blank face.

"It's mean, but," she gasped, "I can't imagine you doing that! Usually you're so calm and collected; how could a kid tick you off that much?"

"He was annoying me. I had a headache, which I haven't had in years." Her tickle bug finally went away, and they stood in silence until her stomach growled loudly.

_Crap! I haven't eaten yet!_ she thought, smiling sheepishly. He merely arched his brow, "Hungry?"

"Chris laughed me out of the restaurant before we ordered anything. I have to go hunt down a decent place to eat, so I'll be going now." Before she could turn and sprint for her car, she felt something warm on the hook of her elbow and she stopped and looked down. He had her in his grasp, and when her brain processed this, her body reacted in the natural, female way. She felt her scalp get itchy and her skin grow hot.

_If only I didn't turn into a supernova when a guy comes around—and Wesker of all men!_ "Before I break your fingers, may I help you with something?" she asked in a falsetto tone, her grin stretching from ear to ear.

"I know a place not too far from here. I'll take you," he demanded more than volunteered. Sheva glanced down at his hand, then back up into his intense azure eyes.

_If I go with him, he'll think I like him and keep coming back. Gah, he's like a stray cat; feed him once and he'll stay forever. But I'm hungry, and knowing he's a gentleman in some ways, he might foot the bill..._

"Sure. But if you try anything or get fresh with me, I'll kick you where the sun doesn't shine," she warned, slipping her arm out of his grip. She tried not to remember the fact that his hands were pleasantly warm, large, and calloused, like he did hard work—_shut up, mind._

"Don't worry. This is merely to quiet your stomach." Sheva nodded a few times before he leaned forward and snatched the keys from her pocket in milliseconds.

"Hey, you pickpocket! Give those back!" she whined, reaching for them. He held them high above his 6'4 frame, smiling down at her. "That's not fair! You're almost a foot taller than me."

"Perhaps you should wear heels more often then, my little lioness," he teased. She paused in her futile attempts to retrieve her keys to blush for a moment, and then she stepped down hard on his foot—actually his toes, to be exact. He howled, dropping the keys right into her hand as he hopped around on one foot.

"Do you happen to wear cement on your feet?" he groaned.

Laughing, she replied, "No. I just don't like it when tall guys like you make fun of short women like me. There's a reason we exist, and it's not to be laughed at." Once he finally recovered, still not putting his full weight on the damaged toes, "And what is that purpose?" he inquired, blinking several times.

"I can't tell you," she answered immediately, heading for her car. He stood there, watching her hips sway back and forth until she stopped and turned around.

"You coming?" she asked. There was a fire in her eyes and Wesker had a thing for challenges: the Progenitor Virus, the T-Virus, the T-Veronica Virus, Tetris, Galaga, Super Pac-Man.(The video games were given to him by his doctor so that he could vent his anger on the game and not people, but it turned out that the games only made him angrier and he had to replace them several times after throwing the controller at the wall. He had to conduct a search on Google to find out how to beat them and when he did, he stored them away in his Chest of No Return.) And now a woman he knew wouldn't be able to resist his charm or boyishly handsome good looks in a few days.

He limped close behind her and she muttered, "And stop staring at my butt, you old perv."

* * *

**Aaaand cut! Scene Two over! More slapstick humor, more name-calling, and an appearance by dear ol' Chris, who seems to get a kick out of terrorizing people. I figured if he lightened up a little after the virus threat was gone, he'd be a pretty easy-going guy that likes to laugh. And trust me, he'll be in this story a lot more. I may bring in other people, depending on if I could get a good joke out of their character. If they're too rigid like Leon, then I can't work with him because his humor is so corny in RE 2 and 4. *Leon starts to say something to protest, but falls silent and walks out of the studio defeated with his head down.***

**I figured I'd give this story about 7-10 chapters, if not less. The joke can only go on for so long before it's not funny anymore. So, as far as the ending is concerned, what do you guys think should happen? Should Sheva give into Wesker, or should she fight him off and gain victory over his boyish charm? Will Chris ever gain his sanity and be serious with Sheva for once?**

**I'll try to update Aftermath and Lioness and the Hunter soon. Busy busy busy!**


	3. Part III

**A:N: Thanks for everyone who's reviewing, favoriting and following this story. I thought my hard work and late nights that I put into this were all for nought. Fictionpress has let me down, so I've decided to just focus on my fanfiction stories instead. ^^**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Resident Evil that appear in this story or any part of Capcom for that matter, so please do not sue. And I don't own the brand names that appear within either.**

**Note: Here's more slapstick and witty humor!**

* * *

**Part Three: A Day With the Devil**

* * *

Chris would have had a heart attack.

Jill would have killed her and then herself.

Claire would have beat the both of them up, and then went on a crazy tirade through Los Angeles.

_Sheva Alomar_ was having breakfast. _Breakfast._ With Albert Wesker. The man who started all the zombie nonsense and was currently annoying her, and also freaking her out, with his intense, pensive stare as they waited for the waitress to return with their respective beverages. He had ordered a coffee with light cream, and she had decided upon a tall glass of orange juice.

If only Samantha, or Krista, or whatever that bubbly teenager's name was would come back already.

She took a sip of her drink and nearly gagged. There was too much pulp for her liking.

"Too much orange rind?" he asked with a smirk.

She shot daggers at him for being so observant. "Yes, as a matter of fact. But I guess old people like _you_ need that kind of ruffage to keep themselves regular," she snipped at him. He chuckled deeply and then leaned forward. His head looked even bigger at this angle, but his eyes were drawing her in.

"You insist that I'm old, but the physician at the nut house told me that my bone age is 29 years."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I am only 5 years older than you, physically."

"How do you know my age?" she asked suspiciously.

"I have a perfect memory of my database. Would you like to know your weight as well?"

Blushing, she replied quickly, "No. You know that women prefer to be anonymous when it comes to their weight and their age. To ask is insulting."

"My apologies. Although you shouldn't worry." His eyes trailed down from her face, to her neck and bare shoulders, and then back to her eyes, as if he were following where he wanted his hands to be. _Fat chance, loser_ she smirked inside. "You're in excellent physical condition. You must work out."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or creeped out," she sat back, folding her arms across her chest. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"Am I really that bad?" he asked in a faux hurt tone. "There are millions of other women who would die to be with someone like me."

"Really? I wonder why."

"I'm tall, devilishly handsome, strong, and highly intelligent. What isn't there to like about me?" he grinned, sipping his coffee.

"Your smelly hair gel."

At that, he nearly choked on his beverage, and regretfully swallowed it down. "My hair gel doesn't smell. If anything, your attitude does. Just like a little girl. Did you even get spankings when you were young?" he asked. A vein started to appear on his forehead and she grinned. _So he's finally losing his cool. Good._

"I most certainly did, and my dad told me to scream when a pervert wants to put his hands on me. I would right now, but too many of your buddies are around." Wesker glanced around the restaurant, whose customers were mostly rich comfortable bitties with luxury cars lined up in the driveway.

"For the last time, I'm. Not. Old."

"I'm pretty sure your birth year is B.C.E," she giggled. "And your social security number is 5." He slowly began turning red until the waitress returned with a bright smile. Her presence diffused the increasingly volatile situation and Sheva wished she hadn't come backs so soon; another minute and he would have had a senior citizen tantrum.

"Sorry it took me so long. What can I get for you two? You guys make such a lovely couple, by the way," she winked at them. Sheva's mouth fell open, and Wesker took the opportunity to scoot his chair over to her side and wrap his long arm around her shoulders. He felt like he was on fire in this chilly restaurant. But she couldn't bring herself to protest as he rested his head on her crown. The smell of cinnamon kissed her nose yet again.

"I don't know why she acts like we're strangers in public. She's such a sweetheart at home." He rubbed his palm up and down her arm and she felt her insides shrivel up and die. But strangely, she felt relaxed in this position. Protected, even. "Isn't that right, Sheva darling?" he purred, planting a kiss on her temple.

"Yes," she replied sweetly, placing her hand on his thigh under the table, giving it a firm squeeze. He yelped like a pup and the waitress jumped slightly at the noise. "Sorry. My husband's like a little puppy sometimes; he thinks he's a dog."

"And you know I _love_ to bite," he teased, pinching her arm. She hissed and elbowed him in the ribs. Anymore of their subtle attacks on one another, and they'd be on the floor pummeling each other. "I'll have six Belgian waffles, Italian sausage and sunny-side up eggs, not too runny. What'll you have dear?"

"A mushroom and chicken omelette with hash browns on the side." The waitress scribbled their order down, thanked them, and hurried away towards the kitchen. Sheva immediately peeled his arm from her body and scooted her chair over, glaring at him angrily. "I really don't like you, Wesker."

"Today's opposite day, so I'm thrilled to know how you really feel," he joked. She rolled her eyes and turned away, watching everyone else enjoy their meals. One couple was around their(her) age, engaged in lively conversation as they shared a plate. He too was a blonde with blue eyes and his wife was just a shade darker than her with bouncy black curls. They had one child sitting in a high chair, maybe three years old with sandy brown hair and sea foam green eyes. The little girl was adorable. "Perhaps that's an idea of what our child would look like," he added.

She turned back to him, her brow nearly touching her hairline. "Keep dreaming. Ours would probably look like—hey, why am I even encouraging this kind of talk? We're not even dating."

"That can be a reality very soon," he growled with a twinkle in his eye.

Sheva felt her stomach lurch. "I think I'm gonna be sick." Wesker made a face at her, as if he were confused, but before he could inquire about her sudden sickness, Samantha had returned.

"Here's your food!" she peeped, setting their plates in front of them before rushing away. Sheva went for her fork and began chopping her omelette into little pieces.

_The sooner I finish, the sooner I can get outta here_ she thought, imagining her knife was cutting through Wesker's face instead of food. She laughed evilly to herself, then stopped and looked up at Wesker, who was wide-eyed in fear and astonishment.

"What?" she spat.

"Your laugh is so evil. It's disturbing even for me."

"Good. Maybe you'll stay away from me," she muttered. They began eating silence until she felt someone watching her. Slowly, Sheva looked in Wesker's direction; his head was down. "Do you detect the presence of an alien life form?" she asked.

He slipped a piece of meat into his mouth and swallowed before replying, "Yes, now that you mention it, I do." They both turned towards the window, and there stood the last person either of them expected to see.

Chris had his face smashed against the window, his eyes as round as saucers and his jaw hanging so low, she could have tossed a coin right into his mouth.

"Well, if this isn't one big family reunion," Wesker stated dryly.

"I don't want to see him right now," she groaned. They watched as he headed for the front entrance.

"I understand why. He's a muscle-headed, brainless oaf," he muttered. "He never finished his paperwork on time when he worked for me, and he always made the most mess of things. But I'll stop insulting him since he's your boyfriend."

"He's...not my boyfriend."

The blond seemed surprised. "You mean that mass of muscle doesn't appeal to you unlike so many other women?"

"Well, I'll admit, I did have a crush on him when he came to Africa, but I guess I don't like him like that," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Interesting. Women usually go for the alpha male types."

"Then you must fighting women off left and right because you're oozing massive ego right now."

"No, no, no," he reprimanded her. "I'm simply very self-assured, is all." Just as he finished his sentence, Chris's massive body stopped in front of them, and he was breathing as if he had been running. She could hear the anger rising in his chest already. This wasn't going to end well.

"Good morning," Wesker greeted in a voice that she'd never heard before.

"Wesker," he stated promptly. There was tension in the air so thick, Sheva found it hard to breathe. The last thing she wanted to do was try to end a clash of the titans; they were both much bigger than her lithe 5'5 frame. His hazel eyes focused on his partner. "Sheva, what are you doing here with _him_?"

"Well,_ we_ were supposed to have breakfast together, but _you _decided to laugh me out of the restaurant. At least he's kind enough to pay for everything."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think we've ever met before," Wesker used the same weird voice again. He got to his feet and extended his hand. Chris looked dumbfounded. "Reagan Lewis." Reluctantly, the BSAA captain shook his hand, eyeing the blond carefully. "I'm one of Sheva's old college friends. I ran into her as she was walking down the street. Funny how friends meet up later in life, huh?"

Sheva was getting weirded out by the second at how well Wesker could act. It seemed as if his entire former 'I'm too sexy for my shirt' persona had faded, and an unassuming, well-mannered college grad had taken his place. Even his face looked brighter as 'Reagan' was brought to life.

"Right," Chris bit out. His ears were turning red as he turned to her with an apologetic look on his face. "I just need to talk to Sheva for a moment." Raising her brow, she got to her feet and followed him outside, looking back at Wesker, who was sitting with his arms behind his head as he stared at her. For some reason, she felt heat rush to her cheeks until she looked away.

Once they were isolated, Chris stopped and turned to her. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"It's okay, Chris," she replied quietly.

"No, it wasn't. I was laughing at you when I shouldn't have. Are we still friends?"

"Of course, Chris," she sighed, smashing herself into his chest. He returned the gesture. "It'll take a lot more to make me hate you." After a few moments, they pulled away from each other, and Chris cleared his throat.

"So...Reagan. Did you ever have the hots for him?" he teased with a boyish grin.

Her face reddened, "H-him? No. I was always the girl with boys who are friends, but no boyfriends."

"Maybe today's your chance, then," he nudged her elbow. "He might move away and get married. Then you'll regret letting him go."

"Alright, Man Oprah. I'm not getting into anything I'm not ready for, but thanks for looking out for me, partner."

"Anytime." He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. "We'll make up for this morning later. Enjoy your friend." And with that, he headed for his 2010 Mustang, got into the driver's seat and turned over the engine before pulling off.

Immediately, Sheva felt terrible. She had just lied to one of her best friends to cover for a man that had tried to turn everyone into black puddles of goo. What was she thinking?

Sighing, she returned inside and walked slowly to their table, where Wesker was just about finished with his meal while hers remained virtually untouched.

"Is everything alright?" he asked in his normal voice, which sounded a lot like David Bowie.

"Everything's fine, _Reagan_." He smirked.

"So I see you like the pseudonym. A caveman like that wouldn't be able to see through any of it."

"Chris isn't caveman," she snapped, jabbing at her omelette. "Just so you know where we stand, he's still my friend and you are still under suspicion. I don't trust you just yet."

"Just yet?" he echoed.

Sheva rolled her eyes,"Yes. You're harmless now that you're human again."

"I could always start over."

"With what? We've destroyed every written documentation concerning all strains of the Progenitor virus. Unless you know how to cook viruses on the stove, another Raccoon City won't happen."

"You're right," he stated more to himself than her, his chin between his pointing finger and thumb as he stared out the window. She stopped eating to really look at him. The gears were grinding in his head, but what about, she didn't know. He seemed to be a little disappointed that his chances of becoming a batman again were nonexistent. "Well, then I guess all of my attention can be focused on you," he concluded, giving her a wide smile.

Exhaling loudly, Sheva scooted her chair back. "I'm ready to go."

"But you didn't finish your omelette," he pointed out. She glared at him maliciously.

"So sue me, Reagan."

"I'm paying for it," he argued.

She started to pull out her wallet, visibly frustrated. "Then I'll pay for myself," she mumbled, pulling out a VISA card.

"Ah,ah,ah," he said, snatching the plastic square out of her hand. "I'm paying."

"Then what was all of that for?" she growled.

"Just to annoy you," he smirked, tapping her on her nose. She swiped at him and he stepped back, chortling as he dropped a solid fifty dollar bill on the table.

Once they were outside, Sheva checked her watch. It read 10:46. "Oh no!" she exclaimed. "I was supposed to meet someone at 11!"

"Then just drive yourself there. How far is it?" Wesker asked.

"It's a thirty minute drive; I'll be late," she groaned. He took a hold of her hand, "I'll get you there in ten," he said with burning determination, tugging her along.

"Don't tell me you can still run really fast."

He let her go in front of her car. "Of course not. Give me your keys."

"What?"

"Give me your keys."

"No," she folded her arms across her chest.

"Do you want to be late?" he growled. She stared at him a moment before digging into her pocket and dropping them into his hand. "Get in." She climbed inside, but before she could buckle up properly, he had turned the engine over and was speeding down the street through a yellow light.

"Holy cheese and crackers!" she gasped. "Are you insane?"

"Sometimes you have to be to get where you need to." He looked like a NASCAR driver gone crazy with his shoulders hunched up to his ears and his blue eyes intense and wide as he navigated the crowded streets.

"You're going to hit someone," she wailed, closing her eyes.

"Someone will hit _me. _I'll just keep going." He rounded a corner at forty miles an hour, and it was a miracle they didn't end up in the corner store.

"That's hit and run, Wesker!"

"No, it's traffic control! Now be quiet and let me drive!" To her surprise, he stopped at a red light, but only to ask her a question. "Where are you going?"

"You told me not to say anything."

"Now's not the time to get smart!" he shot back.

"4453 Grand Avenue." The light turned green, and he revved onto the freeway, almost hitting an old woman who had barely made it onto the curb. Sheva glowered at him. "You almost hit that old woman!"

"She was moving like a fossil and she knew it," he replied. Thankfully, the highway was much less crowded, and he seemed to calm a little.

_If he slows down when we get to the red light, maybe I can jump out and walk from there..._she thought, watching as he exited the freeway just three blocks up from her destination. It'd only been six minutes since they left the restaurant.

With the light being green, he sailed through the intersection, grinning wickedly. "I always did like real driving more than Grand Turismo."

"Really? I couldn't tell!" she threw at him. "Next time you want to play Cruisin' USA in my car, get your own!" They were a block down from the building and he was still going forty in a busy part of downtown L.A. "The building I'm going to is over there! You passed it, you idiot!"

"I'll correct that!" he yelled, turning the wheel hard left, and Sheva was thrown into his body as the SUV screeched in a perfect U-turn that ended in her parking right alongside the curb. "We made it," he panted, turning off the engine.

With her eyes closed, she didn't know what she was holding on to until she realized it had a heart beat—and it was warm. She pulled away, just enough to look up at him, and he held that same cocky, lopsided grin on his face.

"You're safe, Sheva dear. And on time." The car clock proved him right. It was 10:55. She sat up and fixed her hair, trying to calm her thudding heart. "I think you owe me something," he said in sing-song voice.

"Like what?" she scoffed turning to him. He had his lips pursed and his eyes closed as he leaned towards her. "Oh, so you want a taste of Sheva?" He nodded his head once, still leaning in. "Then get a taste of my fist!" Before he could move away, he opened his eyes to a small but deadly-looking fist that was rushing at him with incredible speed.

Boy, did he wish he was superhuman again.

* * *

**End of chapter! I loved writing this one because this is the turning point and halfway mark of the story. Yes, I said it; the story's already halfway over. I intended for it to be 10 chapters, but 5 will suffice for this tale of awkward romancing.**

** Wesker really doesn't know how to compose himself as a normal human, especially when he realized that he's a red-blooded male and knows a pretty girl when he sees one. I know not ALL guys act crazy over a nice-looking woman, but considering we've never SEEN Wesker with a woman, we know he was the 'all work, no play type', not saying falling in love is a game. Well, in a way it is, but I won't explain it here. He doesn't appear to be a man whose priority is to have a woman in his life because a relationship would only slow him down or make him weak. But, now that he's human, what else can he do? Run from women for the rest of his life?**

**All in all, I want to thank everyone who reviews my stories; they really do encourage me to write more. Even the favorites and follows I get lets me know people like my work. **


	4. Part IV

**A:N: Thanks for everyone who's reviewing, favoriting and following this story. Only two chapters left, but they won't let you guys down (I hope).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Resident Evil that appear in this story or any part of Capcom for that matter, so please do not sue. And I don't own the brand names that appear within either.**

**Note: I changed my penname again. They should ban me from doing that for awhile. Teehee.**

**SamainNights**

* * *

**Part Four: Irishimasse! (Come in!)**

* * *

Sheva couldn't take it anymore. The noises emanating from him were horrific. The pitiful state of his body was too much to handle. Just two hours earlier, he was prancing around like a proud stallion, and now he was all fours spewing his guts into her toilet.

He sounded like he was yelling, crying and growling at the same time into a hollow cave until he crawled out of her bathroom and onto her new couch, groaning like an old dog.

Sheva had been spraying everything down with disinfecting spray, but didn't dare go into the bathroom. There was probably glowing green toxic waste in her toilet bowl.

She sat on the edge of her sofa, glaring at him through her plastic goggles, and he lifted his head slightly to look at her.

"I'm not contagious, you know," he attempted to growl. "You can come closer."

"No thanks, Vomit Breath. I think I want to remain conscious for a few hours," she said from under her mask. "Plus, I don't want any of that stuff you're chucking up on my clothes."

"I think it's done coming out of the attic," he groaned. "I'm not sure the basement door is closed."

She raised her brow at him, "You're sick."

"I know I am," he drawled, rolling his watery blue eyes. "Tell me something I don't know."

"You're infecting my couch!" she hissed. _Where's an ejector button when you need one?_

"I'm not infected. Something's making my body angry."

"Can you think back to ealier today? What might've made you sick?" she asked, sitting closer. His eyes seemed to be closed to endure the pain. Sweat fell from his forehead and his skin looked clammy; it wasn't looking good.

"I don't know..."

* * *

"Reagan was a really good friend of mine in college," Sheva defended him. "He carried my books to class, he defended me from the sports jocks that tried to take advantage of me, and he always listened to what I had to say."

"Relax, Sheva. I'm sorry," Claire apologized. "I was only teasing."

"Yeah, you and Chris do that very well," she mumbled.

"Speaking of which, how is he?"

"You don't talk to him more often than I do?"

"Of course not. He's always bothering me, trying to find out what I ate, who I ate it with, where I'm going, what I'm doing, when I've read a magazine, when I sneeze. He's annoyingly attentive."

"He only loves you, Claire, but he is crazy. One time, while we were in Kijuju, I swear, when we returned to the base and it was time for dinner, when he saw the pig roast, he started skipping around the cafeteria." Claire burst into a fit of laughter, her pale cheeks slowly turning red. "And when he started eating, he was humming some song and shaking his shoulders like a big kid. Josh and a few others moved away from him because he was getting excited over the food." As if the redhead couldn't laugh any louder, her volume increased, and a few heads in the restaurant turned her way. "Why's it so funny?"

"Because!" she gasped, pulling out her wallet. "He _was_ chunky as a kid! And he liked to eat a lot! His outside is the only thing that's changed!" She slid a photo in Sheva's direction and she examined it before trying her best to stifle her laugh. It was a photo of eight year-old Chris with pizza sauce on his mouth and shirt—and boy, was he _chunky_.

"That's not Chris; that's the creature that _ate_ Chris," Sheva chortled before joining Claire in her cacophony.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," a smooth, amused voice said, and they calmed down almost immediately. When Sheva saw who owned the voice, her face dropped, as well as her heart.

Wesker was standing before them, but now dressed in a fitted black T-shirt and dark denim jeans. As if he weren't making it obvious to Claire as to his true identity. Sheva nervously looked to Claire, who had a curious look on her face.

"No, not at all. You must be Reagan. Sheva was just telling me all about you while you guys were in college together," she said with a smile.

The African woman began to calm. _Claire isn't leading me on, is she? I hate that mind trip stuff..._

"Was she, now?" he asked, glancing down at Sheva with a raised brow. If he showed any more human emotions, the world was going to explode. His change in demeanor was almost surreal. He was fooling Claire just by changing his voice alone! "I hope she told you just the good things."

"Of course. Are you joining us?"

"No, I'll go to the bar and let you two finish talking. I'll be here all week. It was nice to meet you..."

"Claire," she extended her hand.

"Claire," he repeated. Sheva could see the lingering resentment in his eyes before he locked gazes with her for a moment. They broke the stare momentarily, and he stalked away.

The redhead raised her brows before looking down at her nearly empty sushi plate. "He's got a great caboose. Must work out," she muttered. Sheva nearly spit out her green tea into her face.

"Claire!" she whispered. _If only you knew you're saying Wesker has a great behind..._"He can hear you, I'm sure."

"Who cares? I'm sure he hears something naughty or nice from women every day. You've got a nice-looking friend at the bar over there."

"Yeah, I guess," she agreed in a soft tone, a lopsided grin before turning to him. The sight of him flirting with the cute waitress unsettled her, but the way he looked at Sheva when the other woman walked away made her feel naked in front of him. Quickly, she turned away and Claire laughed.

"You're so into him, Sheva. I can see the fireworks."

"No," she stated. "He's leaving in a few days, so what's the point?"

"You've heard of long distance relationships. They work sometimes."

"I'd rather not get my hopes up." She glanced at the blond again, and he was currently making his way through a giant-sized sushi roll. He was smiling to himself, too genuine to be fake, and Sheva felt something stir inside of her. It was a candid moment, to see him casually toying with the chop sticks; he reminded her someone she knew...

* * *

After about another half hour, it was time for Claire to get back to work, and Chris was waiting for her at the BSAA building not too far away.

"How do I get to the BSAA building from here?" Sheva asked Claire as they stood outside the sushi house.

"Just walk down five blocks and then turn right. You can't miss the front doors."

"Thanks for lunch, Claire. And the directions."

"Sure thing. But Sheva, you should lock down on Reagan before he walks outta your life forever."

"Chris said the same thing! Do you two have conjoined minds?"

"No, we're not the Skywalker twins," she laughed. "But he seems sane enough." _Claire, you are going to be eating your words later..._

"If you say so." With that, the two parted company, and as if on cue, 'Reagan' stepped out of the sushi bar, exhaling loudly.

"Where to now?" he asked in his normal voice.

"Somewhere you don't wanna be," she replied, walking up the street.

Wesker walked alongside her. "Are you certain of that?"

"Almost completely." They walked the rest of the way in silence, and when they reached the building, he froze in his steps. "What's wrong, Wesker?"

"This is the-the—"

"BSAA building? Yup. Chris is inside; do you want to say hello to Barry, Rebecca and Jill too?"_ His old STARS team would LOVE to see him..._she smirked.

"I'd rather not," he frowned. "I'll find you later. I have a proposition for you."

"Proposition?" she echoed, her brows furrowed.

He smirked, leaning in as he grabbed her shoulders. "It's a surprise," he whispered, the timbre in his voice causing her to shiver.

"If it's what I think it is, then no," she stated firmly.

Wesker chuckled briefly. "That's much later in the future, dear." He pulled away and started to walk down the street to her car.

_I find it odd how he thinks he can just drive around in my car, burn up my gas, and kill my tires...I'll be sure to hurt him the next time I see him. _She stepped inside and almost immediately ran into Chris, who apparently was on his way out.

"Hey, Sheva! I was just going to look for you!" he exclaimed, burying her in his chest. She started talking, but all he heard were muffled cries. "What? I can't hear you." He finally let her go and she took in a deep breath.

"I said I can't talk when you have my face smashed in your monkey chest!"

"Monkey chest?!" he echoed. "You know you love it," he teased, flexing his pectoral muscles.

"Chris, stop it!" Sheva felt her face heating up. The security guards were watching with dumbfounded looks on their faces as he began shaking his shoulders and whistling loudly.

"You know you want to touch the muscles!" he sang in a voice like the Terminator. "You know you love the muscles!"

"Chris, this is embarrassing!" She tried to run, but he grabbed her and slung her over his shoulder like a rag doll.

"Sheva loves the muscle men! She wants to dance with them, she wants to kiss them!"

"Chris!" she whined. He finally put her down and fixed his collared shirt, breathing heavily with a goofy grin on his face.

"You know you love me, Sheva."

"Maybe even a little bit is too much," she joked, swiping at his arm. "Aren't we supposed to be getting briefed right now?"

"Yeah, so let's go. Unless you want another dance," he said in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

"Maybe later," she laughed, pushing him towards the elevator. _How in the world did Claire put up with him as a teenager?_ Once they emerged on the seventh floor, Sheva stepped out into the dark room and looked around. "Chris, there's no one—"

"Surprise!" The lights suddenly clicked on, ad there stood every BSAA member in front of a large white cake.

"What's this?" Sheva asked.

"It's a welcoming party!" Jill exclaimed, handing her the long butter knife. "Go ahead and cut the cake!"

"I made it!" Rebecca added.

"There's probably boogies in it," Barry shuddered. His wife elbowed him in the ribs, causing him to groan softly. "I made the macaroni and cheese. That's the best dish you'll get."

"Barry! That's not fair!" Karen, his wife, protested. "Sheva, everything was made to taste perfect. Just enjoy it all."

Sheva didn't know what to say. They had done all of this for her arrival in the United States. "T-Thank you all so much. I don't know what to say..."

"You've said enough," an all too familiar voice said. She suddenly felt cold as Wesker emerged from the crowd with a lopsided smirk on his face. _Here he is, standing in the midst of all these people whose lives he's damaged beyond repair, smug as a bug in a rug. He must have convinced them that he's Reagan Lewis, Yale graduate. Yeah, with a degree in Mad Scientology._ "Welcome home, Sheva." His smile triggered a dormant memory, and she felt something eating away at her heart.

"I'm sorry you guys, I-I have to step outside for a moment," she muttered, trying to hide her face as she rushed for the balcony at the back of the room. The fresh gust of air cooled her face as she closed her eyes, exhaling ever so slowly to avoid the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

"Surely their kindness doesn't mean_ that_ much to you." He was using his normal voice again, and boy, did she want to pick him up Hulk-style and throw him over the railing. Couldn't he take a hint?

"I'm sure you're not used to it, but I am, even though that's not the reason why I'm not out here," she sniffled.

"Then why are you out here? Am I really that upsetting?" Sheva found herself laughing at his attempt to joke, yet didn't turn to face him.

"You're a really good actor, Wesker."

"I was on a TV show before you were born."

She turned around, disbelief in her features, "No way."

"Kidding," the blond smirked. _He's not kidding. I'm sure he was in school with Humphrey Bogart..._"It was necessary for me to avoid...detection by that dum—I mean, Chris," he corrected at the look she gave him.

"Are you afraid of him?" she asked. She was dying to know because every time she mentioned him, Wesker's forehead would crease or he would frown. When they approached the BSAA building, he looked like he was going to get into the fetal position on the sidewalk and suck his thumb.

"No, of course not. But he has a habit of handling situations with his fists rather than his brain. I'd very much rather avoid an unnecessary fight that he would lose."

"I'd like to see that happen, but I have one question: how'd you get up here before me?"

"I flew." Her face dropped and he grinned. "There's a stairwell on the back of the building. I convinced Barry's wife to open the door."

"Right, _Reagan_ wanted to be a part of the surprise." He took a few steps towards her, confident that he could stand close to her without getting headbutted again.

"You've done very well to avoid answering my question, Miss Alomar."

"What question?" She decided to play dumb.

"Why you're out here."

"I don't remember you asking that."

"Of course I did. It's what started the conversation."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it was."

"No."

"Yes."

"Wesker."

"Sheva."

"Party!" Chris shouted out the balcony door, startling the both of them. "Oh," he peeped when they gave him twin glares. "Sorry. You're missin' out on some good food, Sheva." He had a small blue cone-shaped hat sitting on his head, making him look like the chubby child in the photo, and she fought the urge to laugh at him.

"I'll be in shortly," she assured him. He gave her a thumbs up and a wink, and then returned inside.

"Sheva, you are going to tell me what's bothering you," the blond demanded.

"You're not my father, even though you're old enough to be him!" she shot back.

A vein appeared on his left temple and he sighed. "The old jokes are getting...well, _old_!"

"Then leave! I never asked you to be here! You're supposed to be dead, Reagan!" Something about her tone sounded more emotional than before; her voice trembled with every word, and she looked as if she wanted to cry. Then it dawned on him.

"Reagan really was...your friend, wasn't he?"

Her eyes widened for a moment, then she sighed; there was no running from the issue anymore. "Yes. His name was Reagan Matthews. He was tall and blond like you, but he had a less cruddier attitude than you." He folded his arms across his chest, mumbling, "Well, if some crazy artifact in a wheelchair wasn't telling me what to do my whole life..."

She ignored his complaint, and continued. "I was a transfer student from a college in Kijuju, and he was the first person to introduce himself. After that, we did everything together. We were never really attracted to each other, but just a week before he graduated, he asked me if we could be more than friends and of course I said yes." The way she laughed dryly and glanced down at her left hand indicated that something had gone wrong.

"What happened?"

"He died," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "A head-on collision on Highway One. The truck driver was drunk—0.1%."

Wesker frowned, stepping right in front of her. "That's unfortunate."

"Yeah, but life is unpredictable. Since then, I've never really put myself on the market." Sheva hugged herself in the cold wind, and then he put his hands on her shoulders, radiating warmth throughout her body. _What's going on?_ she asked herself, suddenly panicked. Sometimes she hated being female and being attracted to good-looking men, no matter how dastard or evil they were.

She looked up into his deep blue eyes, mesmerized by the golden yellow surrounding his pupil. "Miss Alomar, if anything," he purred, placing her curls behind her ear. "Men put themselves on the market for you." Her lips parted slightly in her speechlessness and he inclined his head, moving in inch by inch. His icy breaths tickled the skin above her upper lip, and she imagined he had chewed gum before stepping outside.

Just as she felt the flesh of his lips, he pulled away, letting her go abruptly. Jarred from her haze, she glared at him. "What's wrong with you?" she asked. He was covering his mouth and his eyes were as round as saucers.

"Excuse me," he barely managed to say before he leaned over the railing and heaved. A few seconds later, his stomach contents hit the pavement and a cat screeched at the top of its lungs, perhaps trapped under his technicolor yawn. Wesker wiped his mouth, his eyes watery and weak as he smiled at her. "Now where were we?"

Sheva stepped back and shook her head furiously. "No way. You need to go home before you spray someone else."

He looked disappointed. "My apartment is too far from here."

"Where is it?"

"Santa Monica."

Groaning, she knew what she had to do. "I'll take you back to my place, but as soon as you get better, you're gone. Understand?"

"Yes. Now let's go before I lose my couth all over the floor."

"Albert Wesker, you are the strangest, most insane man I've ever met, aside from Chris."

"Well, at least I wasn't fat as a child," he pointed out.

"You know about that?" she giggled.

"Of course. Claire showed all the STARS members his picture. I blew it up and taped it to every desk."

"You're cruel, Wesker."

"Cruel is my middle name."

* * *

"If your breakfast was cooked all the way through and you aren't allergic to anything you ordered, it must have been what you ate the Japanese restaurant," Sheva reminded him. She was busy wiping his face with a cold towel that was quickly becoming warm against his feverish skin.

"I remember exactly what I ate now," Wesker stated in a matter-of-fact voice. "I HATE SUSHI!"

* * *

**And another chapter! Now there's only one left—the big finale! This chapter is called Irishimasse for obvious reasons; they went to a sushi bar, thus the cause of Wesker's...plumbing issues. Since he's human again, he has no idea what would trigger a bad reaction when it comes to food.**

**I added a little bit of seriousness to this chapter, but trust me, the last chapter will be hilarious or so I hope. Wesker's "proposition" will be the main theme for the final part. And Chris is SO silly in this fic, isn't he? You haven't seen the last of him...**

**I haven't been keeping count of who's winning, Sheva or Wesker, but I think Sheva is...**

***goes to dry erase board to give Sheva 5 tallies, Wesker trips me to get the marker and give himself 7***

***Chris tackles him to the ground and Jill picks it up***

***Claire snatches it away and a group fight ensues while I grab the marker and run away***

**For those of you who read my Assassin's Creed story, Leila's Tears, Heaven's Cry, I'll do 2 updates back to back hopefully in the next week and wrap it up, finally.**


	5. Part V

**A:N: Thanks for everyone who's reviewing, favoriting and following this story. This is the final chapter! Get your popcorn and soda!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Resident Evil that appear in this story or any part of Capcom for that matter, so please do not sue. And I don't own the brand names that appear within either.**

**Note: Wesker hates sushi, so sushi has been banned from this fan fiction at his personal request.**

**Sivan IXXX**

* * *

**Part Five: Decisions for the Uncertain Future**

* * *

When Wesker finished with his unrelenting rampage about uncooked fish wrapped in seaweed and cold crab turning people's intestines into potential gas bombs, he finally settled for watching the nature channel on her large panel TV. He seemed pretty intrigued with the predator special on large felines.

Once he fell asleep, Sheva started to get up to go to bed—it was half past twelve on a work night, but turned around to watch him sleep. His thin, salmon-colored lips were actually slightly pouty when he wasn't snarling or gnashing his teeth at people. And that virus must have done a really good job at counteracting the effects of aging. If she remembered correctly, he was to be 50 years old in the fall, but he looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties.

He seemed so peaceful when he was asleep, so unlike his conscious, rampaging self. She could get used to calling him Albert...

But what about everyone else? Chris? Jill? Claire? Barry? What would they say when they found out the truth? It wasn't a question of_ if_; they _would_ put two and two together, and Wesker would slip up somehow. He couldn't be that docile and harmless forever.

"...what about my musk? It's Old Spice. Haven't you seen the commercial?" his mindless chatter in his dreams shook her out of her thoughts. "It's the best smell in the world for a dashing young man such as myself." Sheva put a hand to her mouth as she stifled a laugh. _Young? Hah!_ "Sheva loves it, so I use it every day." At that, she blushed.

_He wears Old Spice because of me...Weird, but thoughtful I guess..._Just as she turned to head off to bed, he started groaning in pain—and loudly at that. She felt worry starting to creep into her heart, but the cruel little devil sitting on her shoulder was telling her to leave him be and go to bed. She hesitated and he started groaning again. _Come on Sheva, have a heart..._

Sighing lightly, she grabbed his towel, which was now mostly dry, and wet it under her kitchen faucet before wringing it out and placing it on his forehead. It seemed to calm him a little, but he was still trembling lightly in his sleep and his eyes were slightly contorted in pain. Just what had that sushi roll done to him? _He must be allergic to something that they use. He's never really had to worry about allergies all these years..._ As quietly as she could, she went for her blanket in her room and sat back down on the couch, trying to figure out what to do._  
_

She had seen many food poison victims, but he hadn't been poisoned—or so she thought. The wise thing to do was to make him rest until it passed, but he was in too much pain to sleep soundly. The African woman got up again, this time going for the pain pills in her cabinet before grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

Wesker was still groaning with each exhale, and his large fists were groping her poor couch cushions as if his life depended on it. She sat next to him, put a pillow on her lap and lifted his head—which was quite heavy—to rest on it.

"Drink," she ordered, putting the glass to his lips.

"I'm fine," he growled.

"You sound like a wounded dog, and you're probably scaring my neighbors. Take the pills."

"No."

"Albert Wesker, now's not the time to be testing my patience," she snapped. "I'm tired, and I could very well drag you into the hallway, lock you out and call the police." At that, his right eye shot open, revealing a pensive blue orb.

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

Sighing loudly, "Must you be so stubborn, woman?" he asked, taking the pills from her and slipping them into his mouth.

"Must you be so hardheaded, man? Seems we're more alike than we realized," she mumbled, unaware that he'd heard her as he drank every last drop of the water.

"I sure do hope this aspirin works."

"It'll help you sleep unless you're still superhuman."

"There's no doubt that I'm not anymore. I can't stay awake for days on end like I used to."

"Didn't you get delirious at one point?" she asked.

"Sometimes I would see Chris blowing raspberries at me, or a zombie would be dancing right in front of me," he admitted. Sheva started to giggle and he looked up at her; he could see straight into her nose from this angle, but he wouldn't dare say anything to ruin the mood. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just...I always thought you were so serious that you never had one silly concept run through your mind."

"While working at Umbrella all those years, I had to imagine Birkin with Mickey Mouse ears and a lollipop and other people with cartoon heads to make the work slightly entertaining." She burst into a fit of laughter, and he found her bubbly chortles contagious, so he too joined in until his stomach reminded him who was in charge, and he groaned loudly.

"I'm sorry," she quickly responded to his pain, unconsciously smoothing his cheek with her thumb. Their stare was once unfocused, but it finally became clear once she stopped caressing his face that he was studying her and vice versa.

"It wasn't your fault," he assured her, his own hand grasping her chin lightly, for that was all he needed to do for her to incline her head.

Once again, he had a chance to get 'a taste of Sheva' as she had so candidly put it before, but he felt it long before she did.

The ground beneath them made a low rumbling noise before it hit them and jerked them back and forth before coming to an abrupt halt, knocking them both off of the couch and to the floor.

Groaning, Sheva collected her thoughts as she surveyed her surroundings. A few car alarms were going off outside and a few dogs were barking, but other than that, nothing was broken or out of place. "Was that an earthquake, Wesker? Wesker?" she looked around for him until she felt his hot breath on her chest through her sleeping shirt. "Oh."

She rolled off of him and he took in an exaggerated breath. "What a pleasant experience. You must buy expensive soap because you have a lovely smell."

"Wesker," she warned with a glower.

"It's true; it must be lilac or chrysanthe—" She pointed a very dangerous looking index finger at him and he stopped, crawling back onto the couch.

"Good night," she sighed, hurrying to her room with a red tint on her face.

The blond folded his arms behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, content with the reaction he received from her. "Oh yes, little lioness. You're falling for the bait, and now it's time to spring the trap." Suddenly, he felt his intestines lurch and then coil, and he staggered off to the bathroom in quite a hurry. "Not again!"

* * *

The next morning (and a few cups of Pink Bismuth later), Wesker came out of his coma and sat up to stretch his arms over his head. Her couch was quite comfortable; he'd have to remember the brand name and purchase one in black for his living room.

To his surprise, the rumblings in his lower stomach were gone, and his body wasn't constantly on the ejector button. He felt great. All thanks to his little Sheva.

"Sheva darling," he purred, practically skipping to her room to perhaps sneak a kiss in and get slapped anyway, only to find her amethyst-colored comforter neatly folded back under her cream-colored pillows. Furrowing his brows, he returned to the living area and traipsed to the kitchen on his bare feet. There was a note on the counter:

'Hope you're feeling better so I can ignore you some more. Smiley face. Went to the store to get more milk for breakfast.' "Lovely," he said aloud. Things were going better than expected; he'd have her by his side in no time.

Her handwriting reminded him of the accented lilt in her voice and he put the note to his nose, taking in the perfumed scent she left when she had written it. 'Albert, you're overly obsessed with a woman who hates you. But I love a challenge because I always win.'

He heard some shuffling behind him and whirled around, finding no one standing there. "Hello?" he called out, moving slowly into the living room. He was met with silence. 'Sheva must be playing a game of some sort. I'm good at games.' Grinning wickedly, he turned the corner, peeking around the wall separating the living room from the hall leading to her bedroom. "Sheva, you might as well come out. You can't hide forever." Soft padded footsteps faded off to the left and he went back into her room, checking her closet and then under her bed.

"Where is that woman?" he inquired aloud, turning his back to her bed, the low hum of her fan in his ears. Finally, he heard a soft mewl and he turned around.

It was a small golden brown cat with amber-colored eyes and a dark green collar that read 'Abdin'. "You must be her pet cat. A rare species, no doubt," he noted, reaching out to touch the feline.

A bad move indeed. The cat leaped into action, latching onto the sides of his face and screeching at the top of its lungs. Wesker felt the claws sinking in deeper and tried to pry the creature off. "Get off, you kibble-eating fiend!" Finally, he managed to unhook its nails and tossed it back onto the bed. Apparently, Abdin didn't give up so easily; he lunged at his much bigger opponent's feet and clawed at his toes. Wesker howled in pain and regretted removing his socks. There was nothing he could do but tuck in his feet, which caused him to fall forward and onto her bed. He felt the paws go up his legs and to his back where it stopped and felt something digging into his neck. "Are you biting me?!" he demanded from the cat. As if to respond, Abdin bit down harder and he tossed the ball of fury into the air, unbeknownst that her fan had a cord hanging from one of the propellers.

The blond looked up in horror as the cat was snatched into the air and swung around and around, yelping as it did so. The scene was so surreal, he had to cover his mouth with his hand. If Abdin died before she returned, where would he find another African golden cat in Los Angeles? She would never forgive him.

Hurriedly, he turned off the fan and helped the feline free itself, cradling it in his arms before setting it on the floor. The feline took off out the room and he soon followed, returning to her couch to fold his blanket just as he heard keys in the door.

'Perfect timing,' he thought, straightening to greet her. She came through the door with a cloth bag in her hand—being the earth-conscious woman that she was—and wearing an outfit that Wesker didn't dare ask her to change.

Sheva had decided to wear a light gray tanktop with frills at the shoulders and a pair of shorts that tastefully hugged her body in the right places. He had always been a leg man, and if she bragged, he couldn't argue.

"You're up, feeling better I hope," she peeped, going to the kitchen.

"Much better and starving actually. I'd assumed you didn't care whether I woke up or not." She put the gallon of milk in her refrigerator and turned to him, a guilty look on her face.

"At first, I didn't know what you were up to when you came to my apartment, and I still don't know why you insist on bothering me." He walked towards her slowly as she turned her back to him at the sink.

"I explained myself quite well. You must be having trouble remembering." He was just a foot away from her now.

"I most certainly am. Remind me—" she paused when she turned around, startled by his looming appearance. His entire frame swallowed her whole in its shadow, and his steely blue eyes bore holes into hers as he leaned forward, blocking her in with his hands placed on either side of her on the counter. She had nowhere to run.

"I will gladly remind you. I'm looking for a queen, but not one that gives in easily. I'll admit, you are a challenge, but no challenge is too much for Albert Wesker," he stated in dripping arrogance.

"Albert, your arrogance is showing."

Smirking, he inclined his head, and Sheva stared down at his mouth as it moved, "And yet you can't help but stare at it..." He was so close that she could feel his lips just centimeters away from hers. "Can you?" She didn't reply as she bit down on her bottom lip, and he moved away, creating a great distance between them once again. "All women are attracted to power. It's sexy," he admitted. "Unfortunately, I found the one that isn't. But, there's nothing wrong with being different from the others. Which brings me to my proposition."

Trying to calm her thudding heart—and ignore the mysterious scratches on his face—she allowed him to continue. "My company, NeoGen is having its first annual ball one week from today. I would like for you to attend." His voice was serious and business-like, but his eyes betrayed him. He was begging her to go, perhaps to show her off on his arm as he dazzled his many benefactors—not that he needed them.

"I don't know. I get the feeling I'll just be another decoration on your arm like so many other women that'll be there."

"I regard women as more than a tasteful compliment; you'll be free to socialize and mingle."

She raised her brow, "Are you sure?"

"I'm not one to rescind promises."

"Fine. I'll think about it." Seemingly content, he started to the door.

"Seven days. Seven days is all you have to play with the idea. From now until that night, I won't bother you since you'll need time to find a dress and do whatever else women do for parties." Sheva started to say something in protest until Abdin came out of hiding and trotted towards Wesker, who was bracing himself for something to happen, but instead, the feline curled around his legs and meowed loudly. He picked up the cat, and her heart melted at the sight of him petting it a few times before putting him down on the floor and letting himself out the front door.

* * *

"I can't believe we're just sitting here!" Claire exclaimed, tossing another kernel into her mouth. "You have a free ticket in to one of the most expensive parties in Los Angeles and you're not going. Why again?"

"Because I don't want Reagan to spend three thousand dollars on a beauty contest I don't want to participate in," Sheva grumbled. It was such a chore to hide the truth from the Redfield siblings, especially Claire, who was adamant about her going and 'falling helplessly in love'.

"Sheva, if your friend is telling you the truth, then you don't have to worry about being reduced to a Cupie doll. You'll dazzle everyone there and make the other women insanely jealous; if I were a guy, I'd be trying to get your digits." Sheva imagined the redhead with a mustache and large sideburns and laughed out loud at the image.

"No thanks, Claire. I'm not going because I don't even have a dress appropriate for the occasion. We'd have to find Fairy Godmother to work a miracle in six hours."

The determined Redfield got to her feet and wiped her greasy fingers on her jeans. "I'll be your godmother for tonight; we're going to Bloomingdale's to find your gown, your shoes and get your makeup done, and I'm dropping your butt off at the Intercontinental! You are _not_ going to stand up your friend!" The smaller woman didn't budge, so Claire grabbed her by her hands and dragged her off the couch.

"Hey!" Sheva protested, trying to wrench away her arms. _She's strong for a stringy, scrawny thing. _"Claire, let me go!"

"No! You're going to the party and you're going to like it, whether you dance the night away or not! Don't make me sic Chris on you!"

* * *

No more than an hour later, Sheva found herself being dragged around the two-level department store like a giant-sized Barbie doll. She was shoved into dressing rooms, constricted in dresses too tight and squeezed into pinch-toe stilettos too tall for her liking.

"This makes you look like a street walker."_ Well, you put it on me, Claire..._

"These heels are too fiesta-ish."_ You picked them out..._

"Red isn't a good color for your skin tone."_ And you would know, Miss Fashionista? Wearing hot pink with that red hair, you look like a Twizzler..._ Sheva thought as loud as she could scream. It was no use; there was nothing here to fit her body shape and no pair of shoes that wouldn't give her bunions or corns.

"Claire, it's obvious; I wasn't meant to go to this thing. We'll just go home, tell Chris to come over, and watch scary movies."

The redhead looked as if slapped. "Sheva! We're not leaving this place until you find something! I'll just call for help! Could someone please help us?" she called out into the store. In milliseconds, three women appeared with wide, eerie grins in their faces.

"We can help you. What's the occasion?" the older woman asked in a gruff French-sounding accent.

"My friend here is going to that fund raiser ball on top of the Intercontinental downtown but we can't find anything for her to wear."

"An event like that?" the brunette with a perfectly round bun on her head asked. "You need to go to the Special Occasion section. Come with us." Sheva reluctantly followed them to a section towards the back, discovering a section that they hadn't ventured into. "Here's what you're looking for; this is not some club down in West Hollywood. This is a dignified event where modesty and humility are your garments."

Claire eyed a midnight blue gown with rhinestones on the shoulder straps and reached out to touch it, only to have her hand slapped by the other redhead.

"No. Can't you see blue isn't a good color for her skin tone? Do you want her to look like a beached whale?" she asked. The Redfield sibling started to say something, but fell silent. "Earthy tones, the brightest perhaps ruby red. No purple, no yellow, no blue. She's a busty pear, so she'll need something to show off that small waistline."

"An empire waist?" the petite blonde asked.

"Oui," the French woman replied. "Something that hugs her torso until it gets to her hips so that the rest is a mystery to her onlookers." The younger two fished through the racks, tossing dress after dress into a chair in the colors that the Imitation Claire suggested. "That should be enough. Marissa, take the dresses to a room. Kaylee, come with me to find shoes." Imitation Claire-now-named-Marissa took the gowns, while Kaylee followed the older woman to the shoes section.

"She wears a size seven and a half!" Claire called after them. She turned to Sheva and beamed like a nightlight. "See? You will be able to attend the royal ball after all, Cinderella. And kiss your Prince Charming."

"Ew!" the African woman gagged. "In your wildest dreams." But she couldn't help but wonder why her stomach began to form butterflies as she headed for the dressing room.

* * *

"Guest name?"

"Svelchik."

"Welcome to NeoGen's first annual ball, Mister and Missus Svelchik."

"Guest name?"

"Andersson."

"Welcome to NeoGen's first annual ball, Mister Andersson," the blond grunted for the thousandth time that day. _When is this guest list going to end? My legs hurt..._he complained, scratching his outer thigh.

"Krauser," his boss' voiced said in clipped syllables.

"Sir."

"Is she here yet?"

"Who, sir?"

"Alomar?"

"No sir. She and three others have yet to show." This was the fourth time he'd checked on this Sheva Alomar person. _She must be very important, some benefactor or something. _"Do you want me to notify you when she arrives?"

"No." He sounded like he was sighing in disappointment._ Yup. Wesker's changed alright. The old one would've made sure this woman was the first person here. It's like the Twilight Zone, hearing him express emotion._ "I'll keep an eye out for her myself. It's time to close the doors but leave them unlocked; she may come in at any time."

"Roger."

"Who's Roger?"

"Roger as in I understand."

"Oh. Carry on." Wesker ended the conversation and fixed his tie as the hostess of the event took her place at the microphone. His eyes scanned the audience; still no Sheva. He had never been so anxious over the presence of a person in his entire life.

"We'd like everyone to take their seats; NeoGen's First Annual Ball is about to begin with the CEO's opening address. Reagan Lewis, you have our attention." He coolly stepped up the stairs and replaced her at the microphone, adjusting the stand to his much taller frame before licking his lips.

"I'd like to thank everyone in attendance for supporting me this evening. When this company started off, I honestly believed that it would soon fizzle into nothing, like so many other unsuccessful pharmaceutical companies. Umbrella's failure to ensure public safety in use of its drugs made a lot of American citizens hesitant to trust such a giant with their general health, but they lent their trust to an ever larger company, TriCell, only to be disappointed again." Wesker paused to look into the audience; he saw many brown faces, but none of them were her. The last thing he wanted to do was let his anger show in the red tint on his face and have everyone thinking NeoGen was another medicinal letdown.

"But NeoGen, with its bright, young thinkers and the many advances in the medical field, will show every one of you tonight that we can be trusted from anesthetic gas used in open-heart surgery to the little vitamins that you take every day." He raised his arm to cue the screen to the left of him, and an image of a sickly young boy appeared. The audience groaned and murmured.

"This is Kaj, an orphan in one of the many foster homes in Southern India. He's 12 years old, 4 feet tall, and weighs only 40 pounds. He only gets one meal a day, and that is only one piece of hard bread. There a million more Kajs in one Indian state alone. He has been diagnosed with marasmus, a severe protein-energy deficiency that results in thin papery skin, a loss of weight, stunting, and a pinched facial expression. The doctors our team went to said if he didn't get sufficient food and clean water in three days, that he would die."

"When my company NeoGen, stepped in, it was as if these 2 children," the image changed to a before and after phase, and the crowd marveled at the difference, "were not one in the same. Our new drug, called Re-Vita, reversed the effects of marasma in a three week period. Kaj grew fourteen inches soon after, he gained seventy-five pounds, and is now healthy and is now in school at one of NeoGen's facilities for disadvantaged and misplaced children." The next photo was a modern two-story building with rectangular windows and children standing outside the front doors. The audience began to clap loudly in approval.

"Here they learn, are fed properly, and are safely housed instead of living in alleys and on the street. There are 23 NeoGen orphanages in India, 35 in the Far East, and 27 scattered across the continent of Africa. Their numbers will continue to grow. But this is only one branch of the large tree of NeoGen." An entire list appeared and he went down the bullet points, "General Health, Gynecology, Endocrinology, Pathology, Botany, Astrology, Geology, Computer Programming, and the list goes on. NeoGen is not just about medicine; it's about the _entire _well being of man. _This_ is the future of mankind that you all are help bring to birth." He looked into the audience, hoping that she would at least be there for this part. "I call it the Shujaa for Life Initiative."

Somehow, Sheva had appeared right in the front of the awed crowd with her hand over her heart and eyes full of tears. She was like a golden jewel in a sea of black and white.

With a contented smile on his face, he concluded his speech, "With such a hopeful beginning to our evening, let us enjoy one another. Socialize, dance, indulge in the refreshments. NeoGen is all about enjoying life to the full." The sea of gazes broke, and he was eager to get off the stage and claim his prize, the beauty in the gold dress.

_She's not that hard to find. Everyone decided to dress like they're either going to a funeral or a cruise dinner_ Wesker told himself, pushing through the crowd. He caught sight of her jeweled garb just as it disappeared and followed her to the balcony. _It's weird how we always end up on a balcony...First the pond, then the B.S.A.A building, now this._

"I see you decided to take up my offer," he told her, keeping his distance. Her back was still turned to him, and she wasn't saying anything. Unless Sheva had a twin, he'd think that she was trying to ignore him. "Did you enjoy my presentation?" he tried again, slowly growing impatient.

"You didn't have to," she whispered.

"I didn't have to do what?" He stepped closer. Her shoulders began to shake as if she were laughing. However, when she turned around, it was quite the opposite.

She was crying. "You remembered the nickname my mother gave me. I'm nothing to you, I was sent to kill you, for goodness' sake." The African woman didn't realize how beautiful she was at the moment; the topaz-colored dress that she'd decided to wear was sleeveless with a fitted jewel-covered bodice that fanned out into a full skirt that eventually turned a fine shade of orange,a color between sienna and rust. Her hair was up in a tight bun, and her eyes looked even more exotic with the smokey eye liner and red-brown eye shadow.

"Sheva," he entreated her, holding her close by the arms, "That is in the past. I was very upset at first, that I'll admit, but I realized soon after that I didn't want to live around zombies for the rest of my life. Besides, Uroboros smelled like sushi, and I hate sushi. I'm allergic." He generated a hoarse chuckle from her with his comment. "I figured healing the world to save humanity is better than ruining it with a bunch of brain dead carcasses destroying everything."

"So no more Umbrella or TriCell incidents?" she asked.

"No."

"No ulterior motives behind this new company?"

"Not at all. It's a clean business. I'll use it to monopolize pharmaceuticals so that as many disadvantaged and impoverished as possible get what they need."

"As well as everything else to get them on their feet. I heard your entire speech. I'm impressed," she beamed.

"I only do what I do best, which is everything," he smirked. Sheva placed her hands flat on his chest, causing the organ beneath its surface to skip a beat.

"Maybe there is a good god in you somewhere. But just a little arrogant," she joked.

"Only a little?" he asked, inclining his head.

"I'll have to rethink that statement, then," she muttered just before their lips met, only to have someone rip Wesker away from her.

"Albert Wesker!" a female, accented voice shrieked.

_So I'm not the only one who knows who he really is..._

* * *

_Claire drove Sheva downtown in silence, a contented look on her face. They'd found everything she needed at Bloomingdale's, including a small leather clutch for her to carry._

_Her makeup was impeccable and her dress was perfect, but something was still bothering her._

_No one knew the truth about Reagan's identity, and the Redfield siblings were unknowingly encouraging her to pursue a relationship with Albert Wesker, their confirmed and much-despised nemesis._

_She didn't know how to bring it up or to say it. The best way was the candid way, but she didn't want Claire to crash into oncoming traffic._

_They finally pulled up in front of the expensive, swanky hotel, and Sheva took a deep breath before starting. "Claire, I have something to tell you."_

_"Reagan is actually Albert Wesker," the redhead stated with a smile. Her friend's jaw dropped open and she laughed. "I knew all along. I could see the remaining hostility in his eyes when he saw me that day at the sushi house. I figured I wouldn't call Chris or anyone else because you know what you're doing. Besides, you're a grown woman; who you decide to see is your business. I have a hard time reminding Chris that I'm not in a training bra anymore and he can't tell me what to do."_

_"Claire, I—"_

_"Don't worry about anything. As slow as Chris is, I'm pretty sure he's caught on by now. If not, that's too bad for him. Wesker's harmless for now and forever, so go enjoy yourself and see where he leads you. If you don't like what he has to offer, just walk away."_

_"You make it sound so easy, Claire."_

_"I went through the same thing with Leon. He's always away on a mission or getting donuts for the President, so we've decided to put a serious relationship on hold until he's more stable. But Wesker, he seems pretty grounded."_

* * *

_Excella! I thought she was dead..._ he thought, trying his best not to show his surprise. She was wearing a solid gray evening gown that gave all a generous view of her breasts with its swoop-neck style and had a high slit up the right thigh.

All attention was focused on them and her high-pitched, screeching tone. _Oh no, it's Excella! How's she still alive?_ Sheva thought._ It doesn't matter; it looks like she wants to cream Wesker..._

"I'm sorry, but you have the wrong man," he told her in his Reagan voice. She seemed bewildered for a moment, only to have her perfectly arched brows meet together again.

"You can't fool me! You are Albert Wesker, the man who destroyed my company and ran my father's name into the dirt!"

"I have no idea what—" he started before she punched him square in the eye, knocking him to the ground before two security agents scooped her off of her feet by the arms and out the doors. She was still yelling as the carried her away, "I'll get you back for this! You'll pay, Albert!"

Sheva went to his side and helped him up to his feet. He was covering his right eye with his hand and she moved it away. It was already purple and swollen. "She sure does pack a mean right hook."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," he sighed. The guests were still showing concern, muttering and whispering to one another. "I guess the Uroboros rejected her in the end. She wasn't even worthy of getting my coffee. Her attitude was smellier than blue cheese."

"Any more hits like that, and you would've needed to go to the hospital."

He looked at her with his good eye. "You're all the help I need," he stated in earnest. Sheva was starting to feel nervous; he looked like he wanted to say more and that if he didn't he'd have exploded then and there. "I need a queen to rule alongside me. Someone who's not afraid to challenge me, to test my patience. Someone who's passionate about their work, about life. That person is you, Sheva. If everyone else had died because of Uroboros, I'd want you to be the only one left." She seemed touched, but slightly disturbed by his words.

"As sweet as that sounds Wesker, I should give you another black eye for even thinking of something like that. When are you going to understand that the only world you can rule is your own, not everyone else's?"

"Humans are worthless in the condition they're in; they need help—"

"Then help them, which is exactly what you're doing by creating NeoGen." She stepped into his clutches, holding his face in her hands. Finally, he could experience her warmth, soft touch and drink in that universe in her hazel eyes. "You're doing things the right way, for once." Sheva pressed her lips softly to his, whispering, "You win," before sealing the kiss completely.

* * *

_**Several months**_** _later... _ **

"So?" he asked, turning another page in his novel.

"So what, sweetheart?" She had to get used to calling him pet names; it was so weird to go from enemies...to _this__._

"How did he take it?"

"Not too well," she sighed, playing with his blond locks. It was such a beautiful day to be outside. "He's never screamed like a girl before. It's not like we're married or anything."

"Sheva dear, his mind can only take so much, so dating is something he wouldn't approve of. Besides, isn't that what we're working up to?"

"Yeah," she sighed airily, gazing down at the silver band with a diamond heart on it. "Yeah it is. I wouldn't be wasting my time on a park bench with your head in my lap if this wasn't serious."

He put down his book, and looked up into her eyes the way he had been for quite some time. "Every last one of my objectives were of serious concern—including you."

"So I'm an objective now?" she asked with a playful smirk.

"Oh you know what I mean," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "Our children will be objectives too: Shelbert, Alomesker, and Shesker."

"Albert, you have to think of better names. They sound like cartoon characters."

"All right, something more civil, like Anna or Amelia for a girl, and Aidan or Arnold for a boy."

"Why so many A names?"

"Why do you always have to contest with me?"

"Because it's fun seeing you get angry."

"You won't like me when I'm angry."

"Sure, Lou Ferrigno," she giggled, leaning in to give him a tender kiss on the lips. Finally, she pulled away, turning her gaze to the leaves twirling on the ground.

Wesker looked up at the blue expanse of sky. _I always dreamed of ruling the world, but now that's far beyond my reach. Perhaps my life being spared is the biggest lesson in humility I'll ever need._ He looked up at Sheva, who was still running her hand through his hair on impulse. She had a gentle smile on her face as she watched the children at play.

_Ruling my world...that'll have to do for now._

The End

* * *

**And that's the end of the final chapter of Deja Vu! Sheva finally gave in and decided, Why not? I mean, come on, what could Wesker do as a normal human? I could see Claire saying what she did to Sheva; women think with their hearts, so I see her saying go for it. Chris on the other hand, would have 2 heart attacks because guys think logically: once a bad guy, always a bad guy, no emotions involved.**

**I want to thank everyone who reviewed and favorited and followed this story, however short it is. I meant for it to be a quickie comedy-romance story. Now I can focus on the more serious ones with the silly nonsense I was thinking of before I published this story.**

**Also: I have another ResiEvil story coming out when I finish my Assassin's Creed story. I won't say what it's about and ruin the surprise. But, I will say this, Deja Vu will have a sequel! Whether it'll be comedic or serious, I don't know...**


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